Lonely Quiescence

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, counting mosquitoes by moonlight, humming softly along with them, my only evening companions yet again.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, drifting along by day, sleeping soundly by night, always alone, always satisfied with whatever I do not have. I am one with the great vast emptiness that is the world. So be it.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, having yet another long discussion with my faithful sock puppet, Harold. Though we do not always fall into complete agreement on all matters great or small, coming together as we do from decidedly distinct backgrounds, we do have many moments of full and satisfying understanding, Harold and I, and that is fine.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, humming softly in the moonlight, completely on my own, completely empty of cares and woes, not pursued for any reason or even known at all by any among the vasty populace. Cool, reserved, at peace, alone — such a one am I.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting still in the night, gently howling at the moon, though only in my mind, for who would wish to disturb such impeccable silence as I have here? Not I, not I.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, with dust on my boots and an evening breeze in my hair, satisfied completely with what little I have and with whatever I don't. Suits me just fine.

 

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Me? Lonely. Quiescent. Often softly ornery in a minor key.

Yo Mom

Am in a waiting room, sitting next to a lovely plastic plant covered in delicate white plastic flowers, and it just bit me, the little bastard. Wait until I tell Mom about this. She takes notes. Will be writing a book about this soon. If the shrubbery doesn't get her first.

At 89, Mom, the world's oldest living stripper still working (between naps), is a real dance machine, though we'll eventually need to do something about the diaper.

I bet you couldn't take my Mom in a fair fight if she was sober and felt like wasting her time and got to limber up first.

I don't mean to brag but I'm better than you. Mom said so. She's always right, or else.

I miss Mom when she goes away. She's a zeppelin pilot. And a helium addict in her spare time.

I told Mom I wanted to be something special when I grew up and she suggested an aardvark sandwich with tuna sauce and a cherry on top. So maybe.

 

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Me? Would be totally lost without myself.

No I Never

Ham on a stick — either one of them is fine by itself but put them together and you have something really special.

Hamster Bob has been wearing a mask lately. I don't think he's been robbing banks because he's pretty short, though he does have a suspiciously large pile of nuts behind his cage. Nuts. Behind his cage. Someone needs to investigate this.

Have noticed a rumpled, empty trenchcoat following me around on Tuesdays. Any ideas? This ever happen to you?

Have you ever been to a turtle parade? They're always over before I get there. But anyway, as long as you're here, could you untie me?

Have you ever seen cookies fight?

Have you ever tried to clip a lobster's toenails? Where do you even start? And I can't hold my breath that long either.

 

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Me? About the same. Always about the same.

Recent Incidents

Had a dream that I was being stalked by a pussy, a fairly fuzzy one at that. Nope. Just kidding. Not really. Not this one. This one, in fact, was freshly shaved and had pizza breath.

Had a weed follow me home. Said its name was "Harold", used to be king of England, back when it was called Angleand and stuff. We might start a non-profit garden together, just as a hobby. An experimental hobby.

Good news — I recently discovered that Woffort Wolderfarts isn't actually my uncle. And he isn't actually human either. More like a fungus or something (No wonder we could never get him to eat anything but week-old garbage and dog droppings.) So, bye-bye Farts.

Good news, for me at least — I finally completed my course in how to finally complete courses (home study version), and am ready to die young. (That's an advanced course, and I might be too ornery to qualify but am willing to cheat.)

Good news, one hopes — Trilby Twinkleham has re-opened the local hobby shop once run by our favorite community uncle, Old Sam Netherklaws. Now, once again, we may be able to get our nippers sharpened, or perhaps even be able to buy new. We hope! As always! Netherklaws Nippers have always and forever been the best nippers, and we do know it!

Gosh b'gosh — it's been a long time since I've written anything of substance. The monkeys won't let me have substances, so I need to steal them, and then write it off, which is a pain, but I need pain these days.

 

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Me? Recently incidented.

Fresh Plants For The Plantgrounds

Fred didn't do it. That's why it didn't get done. And I don't care anyway.

Fred said "No", but I disagreed so I let the gators eat him.

Fred said it best when he kept his mouth shut.

Fred said it couldn't happen, but then it didn't.

Fred says he's gonna buy a boat. I said, "Fred! Get a bigger bathtub!" Fool.

Fred spent weeks making a mannequin of himself, and then he burned it. "To clear the air and give me a fresh start", he said. All I got from this exercise was a lingering smell of burned horsehair.

 

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Me? Never actually knew a Fred. How about Melvin Mortvedt? Grover Icenogle? Egwan Spelmanus? (High school days.)

Foundings

Found dust again. On the cat. Again. Looks like he's been hunting. Probly dust bunnies. With some success, I'd guess.

Found dust again. On the cat. Again. This never used to happen. When he was alive. Not so much, anyway.

Fracture crackers. Fraught thoughts. Fraught toddy. Frauncy ponch. Mumble Week. (It comes and goes.)

Fulfillment, that's what I want. I ordered stuff from Almazzon two weeks ago and it still isn't here. My cat is getting somewhat twitchy without his 'nip. Can't blame him. I need some too.

Have been thinking of taking up catnip farming. After I move out of tiger country, I think.

Have decided to become a critic. All I need now is a subject, and maybe a pen, and some paper. Not sure about the rest. Is there an official uniform? A license? Secret handshake? Do I wear a mask? A cape? Special socks? This is all so new, so sudden, but I need the money. Does being a critic pay at all, or will I just get beaten up more often? (Pretty tired of that part already.) So many questions. Maybe I should email the cat, even though he's on vacation and gets cranky when I do that, but what else is new?

 

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Me? Found sandpaper in my underwear. Again.

Running On Three Toes

Got my dick caught in the zipper again. Good thing I have spares.

Got my goose cooked. Finally. Highest oven setting is two degrees. Takes 47 months if the weather is sunny, and then there's all the mold. Dinner invitations will go out this evening to all those still alive and waiting patiently in layers of respectful silent anticipation.

Got my rear bumper repaired today. Been a little bent and wobbly since that family of six walked right into me from behind out front of Wally Mart last month. All big hefty ones like you see over there usually. No other injuries were reported.

Got sniffed by a ghost last night. I must have aromatic ectoplasm. Or maybe I fart colorfully in my dream sleep. Always a possibility.

Got three toes on my left foot and some more on my right, plus a couple spares out back. I'm pretty well set for most anything, I guess.

Grandma peeled me a pumpkin. I didn't know you could do that. I guess she's got the hands for it. Six of them, all gnarly. Wicked good at arm wrestling for her weight class.

 

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Me? Still not sure if I counted right or not.